Maud fairly started in her surprise.  There seemed something so truly useful, so consoling, so dear in this proposal, that it instantly caught her ear.

“Find the Major!” she answered.  “Is that possible, Nick?  My poor father perished in making that attempt—­what hope can there be then for my success?”

“Plenty hope—­much as want—­all, want.  Come wid Wyandotte—­he great chief—­show young squaw where to find broder.”

Here was a touch of Nick’s consummate art.  He knew the female bosom so well that he avoided any allusion to his knowledge of the real relation between Robert Willoughby and Maud, though he had so recently urged her want of natural affinity to the family, as a reason why she should not grieve.  By keeping the Major before her eyes as a brother, the chances of his own success were greatly increased.  As for Maud, a tumult of feeling came over her heart at this extraordinary proposal.  To liberate Bob, to lead him into the Hut, to offer his manly protection to her mother, and Beulah, and little Evert, at such an instant, caught her imagination, and appealed to all her affections.

“Can you do this, Tuscarora”—­she asked, earnestly, pressing her hand on her heart as if to quiet its throbbings.  “Can you really lead me to Major Willoughby, so that I may have some hope of liberating him?”

“Sartain—­you go, he come.  I go, he no come.  Don’t love Nick—­t’ink all Injin, one Injin—­t’ink one Injin, all Injin.  You go, he come—­he stay, find more knife, and die like Cap’in.  Young squaw follow Wyandotte, and see.”

Maud needed no more.  To save the life of Bob, her well-beloved, he who had so long been beloved in secret, she would have gone with one far less known and trusted than the Tuscarora.  She made an eager gesture for him to proceed, and they were soon on their way to the mill, threading the mazes of the forest.

Nick was far from observing the precautions that had been taken by the captain, in his unfortunate march out.  Acquainted with every inch of ground in the vicinity of the Dam, and an eye-witness of the dispositions of the invaders, he had no occasion for making the long detour already described, but went to work in a much more direct manner.  Instead of circling the valley, and the clearing, to the westward, he turned short in the contrary direction, crossed the rivulet on the fallen tree, and led the way along the eastern margin of the flats.  On this side of the valley he knew there were no enemies, and the position of the huts and barns enabled him to follow a path, that was just deep enough in the forest to conceal his movements.  By taking this course, besides having the advantage of a clear and beaten path, most of the way, the Tuscarora brought the whole distance within a mile.